Thank You For Letting Me Grow
by Astral Miscreant IV
Summary: "My name's Tom," he finally said as he reached out to shake her hand. "Nice to meet you. I'm Autumn," she responded in kind and his heart skipped a beat at the mention of it. There was no such thing as fate. Nothing was meant to be...Or perhaps that was all one divine lie—used by the cynics of the world to justify their own nihilism.


**Chapter One: Fate Was A Silly Thing**

* * *

The low sound of muffled noises synonymous to people hustling and bustling through the commercial building blared in his ears. With each step he felt a heaviness creep into his shoulders, getting more and more constricting as his joints moved in the natural ebb and flow of his stride.

His starch-pressed suit felt tight around his body giving no room for relaxed movement as he continued through the building. It was one of those perfectly pressed Italian-cut suits tailored to physically scream out _," Look at me! I'm important. I'm professional. I know how to look the part. I know what I'm doing."_ But he felt everything but.

He stepped into the elevator, one of those pseudo-vintage kind of contraptions that had its kinks and wires intricately melded to look like something out of Architectural Digest. Sleek dark woods and black chrome columns. It was every bit of a reflection of the firm. Deliberately complex, delicately welded. He wouldn't have expected anything less.

The sights. The sounds.

It was an overload of sensory stimuli that his brain was scrambling to process and commit to memory.

His eyes immediately wandered towards the towering pillars that stretched out and beyond to the high ceiling. Daylight scintillated through the glass and poured every bit of its rays into sheathing the interior in its glorious light. Natural light. Snazzy interior. A sight straight out of AD's Spotlight page indeed.

He stepped out of the elevator, brushing past another businessman and back into the dizzying array of interior design that was the Bradbury Building. Los Angeles was always a step back from New York and its more high-maintenance buildings, but it still had its gems. And this commercial building was one of them.

Tom Hansen mindlessly sat on the first chair he could find as he made his way into the hiring manager's waiting room that Tuesday morning, setting his suitcase down first. He fumbled with the button of his suit, still as constricting as ever, before laying his palms flat on his lap and glancing at the only other occupant of the waiting lounge perched right across him in acknowledgement. The nonverbal greeting was as silent as it was ephemeral, before his attention latched on to the next best thing possible.

His eyes wandered back up towards the high ceiling, continuing to marvel at its intricacy.

The noises were slowly dissipating as his senses managed to drown it all out with the extra effort he put in to focusing on the ceiling. Slowly. He could not hear a thing. Slowly, he could...

"Are you interviewing?"

The muted silence was broken as he flinched out of his musings, eyes zeroing in on the source of the voice that broke his attention. It was soft, sweet, with a delicate lilt to it. And it belonged to the person, whom he now realized was a woman, that sat across from him.

"Sorry?" He questioned, coaxing her to repeat what she said. He hadn't heard her the first time, it was all so muffled.

"Are you interviewing...for the position?"

"Oh, yeah," he paused. "Why? Are you?"

"Yeah."

He nodded to himself, a light humor had filled him as he let her answer ruminate. "My competition..."

"It would appear."

"Yeah...So, a little awkward."

"Yeah," she nodded.

He finally looked at her, actually looked at her. Regarding every nuance of her countenance for that short passing moment. A comely visage—with slightly tanned skin, brown eyes, brown hair, plump lips. She was pretty. Really pretty. One of those faces that would make you stop in a crowd to perhaps take another glance at and then go about your day.

He looked away for a moment, a slight smirk on his face. "Well..I hope you, um, don't get the job."

Her brows knitted slightly, smile still hanging on her pretty face as she retorted. "Well, I hope you don't get the job."

They both paused for a moment before laughing in good humor, allowing it to fill the almost silent atmosphere with the pretense of a light camaraderie.

Her eyes squinted, as if she too, was regarding him now. "Have I seen you before?"

"Me? I don't think so," he said as he shook his head.

"...Do you ever go to Angelus Plaza?" She queried.

"Yes," he immediately brightened up at the mention. "That's, like, my favorite spot in the city."

"Yeah, okay. Except for the parking lots, but—"

He nodded, feeling a smile creep upon his face. His sentiments exactly. "Yeah. I—I agree."

"Yeah. Yeah, I think I've seen you there," she finished.

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"I haven't seen you," his words echoed.

Tom felt his gaze wander up and down, as if examining her—trying to remember if he had seen her because if he had, he knew she wasn't the sort of woman you'd forget.

She continued to smile, something devastatingly dazzling and bright. He was encaptured. Almost wrapped up in the moment of clarity her grin brought about.

"You must not have been looking," she said before directing her gaze elsewhere as he continued to look at her intently.

This time, he really looked at her. Eyes lingering on the slopes of her face. She was all coarse sand and tanned skin. A light wispy thing with tawny hair, brown, almost hazel eyes, and glossy skin. Warm and inviting, yet somehow managing to hold a cold austerity with the way she held herself in such a professional manner. From her posture, to her movements. She was actually quite beautiful.

"Tom Hansen," he heard another voice call out, the interviewer's voice most likely.

Breaking him from his reverie, Tom looked up and gazed back at the older man with an equally stiff suit on.

"Yeah?"

"Come on back," the man gestured over to him with a smile just as rigid as the suits they wore.

"Thank you," he nodded before picking himself up to grab his suitcase. As he followed the man away, his eyes lingered on the woman in the waiting room. Still sitting upright, still holding on to the conversation that had unceremoniously been interrupted now hanging in the air.

There was no such thing as fate, he thought to himself. Nothing is meant to be. He was sure of it now, but perhaps...perhaps, it wouldn't hurt to try new ideas out. Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to live a little. So to speak. He let their conversation continue to weigh in on his mind. He was sure of it now. He was sure. He was sure that—

To hell with fate, why not take a chance?

He gathered his wits, stopping in his tracks to get a hold of himself fully. The interviewer turned around, noticing he had halted in his steps. A questioning look settled on the older man's face.

"Sorry, um...I just left, uh—" he gestured back to the waiting room as if he had a dire need to turn back and grab ahold of something that he had left there. "—Can I just, uh—one second..."

He did a full three-sixty, before slightly jogging back towards the room.

"Hey..." he called out towards the woman.

She looked up, flashing another one of those smiles. "You again."

"Yeah. I, uh, was just wondering if maybe after this, if you—"

She looked at him imploringly, her face was still lit with the last vestiges of good humor from their interaction.

"—You want to get some coffee or something," he finished.

"Oh, I'm sorry...I'm sort of supposed to meet someone after this," she shook her head, a dejected expression hung on her countenance as she looked upon him.

"Okay," he replied, not wanting to sound as disappointed as he was. He still smiled at her however, before turning back to follow the interviewer to his office once more.

As he walked off, it seemed as if he was stuck between eternity and the office door before he heard her carefully deliberated response.

"Sure!" She called out and he stepped back in a heartbeat.

"What's that?" He questioned, wanting to clarify that he was not hallucinating her response.

"Why not?" She shrugged.

He chuckled, an excitement that equaled to that of catching the first glimpse of sunset fold into the horizons to give way for night as the buildings of LA came alit with streetlights whenever he sat on the bench in Angelus Plaza had crept into his chest. Yes, it was that kind of feeling.

"Okay. Well, then I'll just, uh—I'll wait for you and we—"

Her face crinkled in the most endearing way as she brushed his weak attempt at planning off. "We'll figure it out."

"We'll figure it out," he repeated, eyes still regarding her warmly. They stared at one another for a moment, locked in an intent gaze of wonder and inquisitiveness. Like stepping into shallow waters, still warm with the uncertainty of a new beginning, the two strangers' eyes had locked onto one another in a stalemate.

"My name's Tom," he finally said as he reached out to shake her hand.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Autumn," she responded in kind and his heart skipped a beat at the mention of it.

There was no such thing as fate. Nothing was meant to be...Or perhaps that was all one divine lie—used by the cynics of the world to justify their own nihilism. Perhaps...

"Autumn?" He chuckled as she gave him a curious look. "I—I, uh, I like your name. Nice to meet you, Autumn."

Fate was a silly thing.


End file.
